


TV Remotes and Ice-Cream

by wubz-bubx-redux (Inorganic_soot)



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Attempt at Humor, First Kiss, Fluff, Light Angst, M/M, Miscommunication, Post-Canon, Pranks and Practical Jokes, dumbass!ford, really bad ones because its ford
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-08
Updated: 2017-08-08
Packaged: 2018-12-12 23:48:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11747694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inorganic_soot/pseuds/wubz-bubx-redux
Summary: Stan has a hard time relearning how to repress his feelings towards Ford. He’s just lucky that Ford is kind of…dense.





	TV Remotes and Ice-Cream

Stan may have lost most of his memories and Ford may have finally acknowledged his hubris, but they are still the same men. Men who have carried decades of repressed anger and bitterness towards each other.

The conflict between them cannot be resolved in a day, nor even in a decade. It is unsurprising that not long after the twins have left for Piedmont and they are alone again that any modicum of good will dissolves into violence.

“Change the fucking channel, Ford. I’m not watching this shit—” Stan is waving the remote, pointing it at the TV. Ford lunges at him.

Ford has managed to pin Stan to the floor. He’s straddling his brother, putting his full weight on Stan’s weaker lower half so that his bucking is useless, one of his hands is gripping both of Stan’s wrist, and the other clutches the remote. His brother is completely restrained. They’re both panting heavily, sweat drips from his forehead and onto Stan.

“What the _fuck_ , Sixer?”

“Take it back.”

Stan is kicking out his legs behind him, desperate to gain the leverage necessary to throw off his brother. His shoes scrape noisily against the wooden floor. His hips are rolling upward. And then he stops.

The surprise that fills Ford causes his hold to loosen slightly, this is perhaps the closest Stan has gotten to throwing him off since Ford jumped him, but still, his brother doesn’t move. Ford recovers quickly – if there’s anything he’s learnt from his dimensional travels, it is that he must to adapt to survive – he squeezes Stan’s wrist even harder this time, feeling the fragile bones beneath his fingers.  “Finally decided to admit defeat, Stanley?” Ford is flushed with success.

Stan looks stricken, perhaps he has finally learnt not to insult _Ancient Aliens_. Ford has always dreamed of this day, ever since he was a boy. How anyone could not appreciate the thoughtful and logically grounded insights into the technological advancements of long dead civilisations—

“Ford.” Stan sounds oddly breathless, interrupting him from his reverie. “Ok, watch your educational bullsh— show. Can you just get off of me?”

Ford is suspicious, but Stan seems contrite. He rolls off his brother and dusts himself off. Stan is hunched over, adjusting his belt. He coughs awkwardly. The TV flickers quietly in the background.

“I’m a—I’m gonna go.”

Ford watches his brother slowly shuffle out of the living room. He is confused, rubbing at the bruise slowly swelling on his cheek. At least Stan’s legendary left hook hasn’t changed.

* * *

 

Stan is different from what he remembers. Quieter, more awkward.

It’s a late summer day and they’re eating ice lollies on the sofa, watching the trees bend and shake in the wind. Except Stan’s not, he’s watching Ford with a quiet intensity.

“Stan?”

Stan does not respond, his gaze focused on his fingers, which are sticky and stained pink with the melting cherry ice-pop. It makes him feel self-conscious.

“ _Stan?”_ He says it louder this time and Stan startles. “Is there something on my face?”

“N-no.” Stan is stuttering. This is very odd.

Ford leans closer to his brother and places a hand on his shoulder, holding him in place. His pupils are dilated. He looks afraid. “Did you remember something, Lee?”

Stan crosses his legs and leans away from Ford. He’s shifting in his seat, looking like wants to be anywhere but here. “Uh, yeah, Sixer. I think I left the stove on. Gotta go and prevent a fire, like Smokey Bear says: safety first, you know?”

He hurries inside, gait slightly off, leaving his lolly on the plate between them. He hasn’t had any of it. This is weird by even Gravity Falls standards, Stan has _always_ had a sweet tooth.

Maybe he did leave the stove on.

* * *

 

Stan is always grumpy when he wakes up. This is not surprising, nor is it even new. Stan hated waking up for school. But Ford feels like literally jumping out of bed with a half-panicked, half-desperate yell and punching him so hard he’s dazed just because Ford tried to wake him up is a tad excessive.

No one can be that attached to sleep and he’s been to places that literally worship the concept of rest.

Also, covering his eyes and then bodily pushing him out of the room is just plain rude. Unwarranted and strange perhaps, but mostly it is very, very rude. It makes him bristle with anger. Aren’t pacifism and hospitality virtues in this dimension? No, wait, he’s seen the news. That is probably a different Earth. It doesn’t matter, Ford can recognize rudeness from a mile away and Stan has always made a point to be as ill-mannered as possible.

There will be repercussions.

* * *

 

Ford is perhaps a bit obsessive. Maybe he’s overly fond of unnecessarily complicated plans. Many would say these are qualities and not faults. Essential building blocks of any mad-scientist or genius.

Nonetheless, he’s _brilliant_ and his plan is fool-proof. Hell, he’ll go out on a limb and say it’s Stanley-proof.

He lies in wait behind shower curtain, camera in hand. He’s jittery with excitement, with success so close he can almost taste it.

The door open, it creaks on its rusted hinges. His adrenaline spirals higher. He hears the muffled sound of footsteps. Water running, a satisfied _ah_.

Oh.

That is not water. Ford flushes, his palms grow sweatier. This is okay, they’re twins. He’s sure they’ve peed on each other dozens of times. It is totally not weird for him to be here. Not even a little. This is just normal, familial levels of intimacy.

He hears a soft shift of thick fabric. He must focus. The silhouette of his brother advances towards the bath tub. Ford’s camera is at the ready, this is years of black mail material.

The curtain opens and he sees the shocked face of Stanley, still in his bathrobe. Damn it. A sudden movement and then blackness.

He supposes that he deserves to be knocked out but still.

* * *

 

Stan is avoiding him. He is surprisingly successful.

He leaves any room that Ford enters, has breakfast at noon, hides on the roof. He looks scared, frightened of Ford. Disgusted by his presence. Maybe he has remembered everything and he doesn’t forgive him, maybe he wants to kick him out.

Ford understands, he has prepared for this eventuality, but it still hurts far more than he expected.

* * *

 

He’s doing his work on the kitchen table. The sun is setting, causing all of the colours on the gradient between red and yellow to tint his surroundings. He feels at peace, more comfortable than he has been for a long time. He feels the prickle of someone’s eyes on him.

Stan is shifting from foot to foot, clearly nervous. Ford looks up from his journal, pen still poised in his hand. He’s sweating slightly, nervous.

“Ford—” Stan starts, before closing his mouth. His face is grim, like he’s steeling himself. Ford closes his eyes for a moment, preparing himself. “Ford,” Stan begins again, voice slightly stronger, “I have to—” he pauses again, swallowing audibly, “ask you something.”

“Stan, I understand and I’ll make things easier. I’ll go.”

“W-Wait, what?” Stan deflates. “Is it— am I that bad?”

It is Ford’s turn to be confused. “You remember everything, right?” Stan nods, hesitant. “Then you know about what I’ve done to you and you hate me and you want me to leave. I’m sorry, Stan—” He’s babbling because it _hurts_.

“You’re an idiot, Sixer.”

Stan is insulting him, adding salt to the wound. Now this is just cruel—

Stan grabs him by the shoulders and he flinches, preparing for a punch. His eyes are clenched shut, he feels the soft press of chapped lips against his own. This is _unexpected_ , but in a good way. It takes him a moment, but he kisses back.

When they draw back, Stan is stained a beautiful shade of red, the waning light from outside catching the deep brown of his eyes. He has the most absurdly happy expression on his face. Ford supposes his is identical.

“I love you, you goddamn knucklehead.”

They both lean in for a kiss this time.

**Author's Note:**

> fuck it man, i wanna write some cute shit.
> 
> hmu on tumblr: http://wubblez-bubblez.tumblr.com/


End file.
